Clearly You Don't Understand

Dear Ms. McSnobster,

Let me help you here; let me explain.

I'm above all that. My party is a real girl's night out and we're spending our own money on fine jewelry. (Did you really say "their husband's money"? Because we try really hard to use "our" and "we" when we don't actually get a paycheck for all the hard work we do, day in and day out, unappreciated and unrewarded.)

I'm surrounded by high-powered career women who don't have time to shop Tiffany (singular) (since it's a flippin' hour from here in Podunk) and who don't mind spending a buck or two on mid-range sterling, as long as the booze is free. And I'm making butternut risotto cakes (at 8:00 in the GD morning) - it's not like I made a jello mold with canned fruit trapped inside. I'm even using real china and wine glasses, vs. plastic and paper. Well, that's because R went "real" last night and I suddenly felt one-upped, so I might ditch the $6 Target paper plates (even though they're pretty, or at least I thought they were before last night). (Not to mention, she served better wine; let's not even go there.)

Honestly, B, I'm doing my friends and neighbors a favor. This is a service I provide as an SHM, like periodic daycare for late parents on random school days. They can count on me to take them back to their childhoods, a time when finding the perfect plastic receptacle for leftover pork roast was of highest priority for most gals. When else would they get together and drink, without some major business deal on the table, or someone's obnoxious boss ruining a good $150 dinner? This is a retreat, B. An oasis, in a sea of equality-based madness.

And for those other stay-home moms who will attend, this is an opportunity to wear high heels and drink too much with a perfectly legitimate excuse. Like New Year's Eve, or a 40th birthday party, this is an e-ticket to girldom. A few hours to not be a mom, a wife, a PTA volunteer, a soccer coach.

Don't you see? They want me to host that party, they need me to host that party.

I get the whole home-party rip-off thing. You think I don't know this is a modern day version of Tupperware? You think I don't know I've become my mother? What, you think I'm stupit???

Fondly,
Ms. Suburban Housewife Who's Hosting a Retail Party Disguised as a Girl's Night Out, and Proud of It.

P.S.
Good thing I didn't send you the animated E-vite. Can't imagine you'd have survived that.

love you ;-)